Duo's Bad Day
by srusse87
Summary: Duo is having a very bad day. The guy robbing the bank he's in isn't helping, nor is the gun pointed at his head. Warning- Duo has rather foul language.


Disclaimer: Gundam Wing doesn't belong to me.

And a quick warning . . . here be bad language.

**Duo's Bad Day**

One of my ancestors some time in the past must have done something really awful or really pissed somebody off. I know this because nothing else could explain why my life has the habit of always twisting around and giving me the shitty end of the stick. Just once, _once_, I'd like to catch a break. It doesn't have to be a big one. Hell it can be an itty bitty teeny tiny one, I'm not picky. But I would just for once like things to go smoothly.

I've given up saying life isn't fair a long time ago. If I had a nickel for every time life wasn't fair, I'd have enough money to buy that damn ancestor's soul and then kick his sorry ass all the way back to purgatory. Motherless son of a bastard.

I'm not going to complain. I'm not sad that nobody cares I fought two wars, killed more people then I can count, and brought peace to this ungrateful population even if it was done shaking it by the scruff of the neck. Fuck, I even helped save the freaking damsel in distress. No, I'm not sad. I'm damn bitter.

No. No complaints here.

I'm not having a bad day. Oh no siree bob, no bad days for me. I'm having the day from _hell_. That there is currently a screaming man holding a gun to my head is nothing. The fact that he has some of the foulest body odor on this side of the hemisphere just concludes the farce my life has become.

All I need now is her royal pinkiness to show up with Trowa's lions in the backseat and we can sell tickets. Everybody likes a good show.

And for his next performance Duo Maxwell will be held hostage by a two-bit wannabe git of a crook who was stupid enough to actually try and rob a bank. Who the hell robs banks these days? Of course we need a supporting actor for this comical travesty, hence the presence of our ever favorite human to pick on, Duo. What hasn't fate done to him yet?

A simple trip to the bank to deposit a life insurance policy was all this day was supposed to entail. And yes, the irony is nearly enough to put tears in my eyes. The kind you get while crouched over the porcelain deity puking your guts out.

If I wasn't so pissed off right now, I'd be really depressed. If I wasn't so pissed off right now, I'd probably take the damn gun pointed at my head and pull the trigger myself. Then I could go track down that bastard ancestor of mine and spend eternity killing him slowly over and over and over . . .

The thought is a pleasant one and I chuckle. Which draws the attention of the gun's owner.

"What the fuck do you find so funny pansy boy? I'm gonna kill you. I got a gun to your head and you're gonna die. You think this is funny? Maybe I oughta shoot you dead now. Laugh that up chuckles."

He's spitting in my face as he shouts, digging the gun harder into the side of my head. I didn't think it possible but his breath is actually worse then his B.O. I'm surprised assault on the olfactory nerves isn't listed as a method of psychological torture. It'd be highly effective.

"You seriously need to think about practicing better personal hygiene man."

I wonder if I should tell my new best friend that he has something green stuck in his teeth.

_thunk_

_thunk_

_thunk_

I swear to God if he doesn't stop wacking my head with the end of his gun I won't be held responsible for my actions. Why is it that incompetent bad guys always feel the need to shout and wave their guns around? It's like they went to bad guys school and learned that the more hysterics the better the show. If that's the case, this guy must have graduated top of his class.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop hitting me in the head."

Of course he isn't listening.

_thunk_

_thunk_

_thunk_

But then why should I be surprised? It's not like many people actually do listen to me. Even when I have perfectly good advice to offer. It's always, 'Shut up Maxwell.' or 'Later Duo.' Mostly though I just get ignored. It's getting to be very old.

I think I'm a nice guy. I help the neighbor lady carry her groceries when she needs it. I remember my co-worker's birthdays and give them a card. I even put the toilet seat down, not that there's anybody around to care.

Yes I'm a nice guy. Yet here I stand, a top ranking preventer agent being held up by some yahoo in a bank. A yahoo who obviously has a death wish because he keeps...hitting...me...in...the... head.

Lips curl back and I bare my teeth in a snarl.

"If you don't stop thumping me, I'm going to take that gun and shove it so far up your ass you have to cough the fucker up."

Of course true to being the big stupid smelly throw back to cro-magnum man that he is, he doesn't take the hint.

He smirks. "I'm shaking inside Tinker Bell." And then he wacks my head again.

I smile back.

I'm still smiling when they haul him away clutching his butt protectively, blubbering about crazy fuckers who should be locked up instead of wandering around free.

And I'm still smiling when I leave the bank and head back to work.

My day was pretty shitty. But at least it wasn't as bad as his.


End file.
